


For the Wings of a Namesake

by Butwhymustiputaname



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Is King, Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Death, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Magic Reveal, Magic Revealed, Minor Oc Characters, UA, Uther is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butwhymustiputaname/pseuds/Butwhymustiputaname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dungeon cells were foul.</p><p>How funny, that he was landed here all those years ago, and now again, for the last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More For the Rats

**Author's Note:**

> Betas are: [thetinymanatte](http://www.thetinymanatte.tumblr.com) and [supercalvin](http://www.supercalvin.tumblr.com)  
> Thank you guys so much for your help thus far

The dungeon cells were foul. 

Moulding straw was heaped in corners for bedding, made damp by murky waters that sometimes seeped in from the ground. This water would trickle into the center of each cell, mixed with whatever sewage and piss didn't make it into the bucket, and exit through a drain. Spores from such mold and rank air invaded the lungs, and any breather did best to take long, shallow breaths to avoid taking in the rot. However there was no winning method; open mouth breathing welcomed a putrid taste, and breathing through the nose let in the stench of decay.

Occasional torches in sconces on the walls cast some light, but these mainly lit the pathways for the guards, and most of the dungeon was lost in the blackness. Dark shadows were cast upon prisoners' faces, offering illusions of disfigurement, making monsters of men. 

Rats' eyes glowed in the corners of one's vision, and they scurried about when no one saw, sometimes growing as bold as to bump into a leg, or gnaw audibly. But these were not small creatures. No, these rats were sizable, grown fat from kitchen scraps snagged off of prisoners' plates. 

Certain guards were supposed to keep the dungeons clean, but it was not a stressed duty, as the filth served a purpose. It was easy for a person to lose their mind in the dungeons. Many a convict had plead guilty just to escape from the horrors of the underground castle. Harsh punishment was more appealing than mental torture to most with a logical head. However, they frequently lost that head anyway.

He had been afforded one of the better cells, perhaps as a last kindness, but he paid it no mind. It was no real luxury. It was bitterly poetic, he thought, that his first meeting with Arthur had landed him here, and now he had been thrown into the dungeons again, until what would surely be their last meeting. Despite this, he was not bitter himself. He wondered briefly if it was the same cell, but he could not remember. It had been far too many years ago, too many years at Arthur's side for him to remember.

The meals were shite as well, to be honest. A crust of hard bread, often stale, or some alarming mush was generally all that was provided. Merlin had heard rumour that if one caught a rat, and killed it, that they would sometimes cook it up for you. However, he found rat meat to be too lean and stringy for his taste, and decided to leave that piece of information untested. He had grown fairly numb to the ache of hunger from his days in Ealdor, where a harvest often failed. True, that it was a bit harder to fare on so little now when his stomach was accustomed to the rich scraps that Arthur would sometimes leave on his plate for him. Bread, and meat, and honey. But he could still get by. He didn't really care for food all that much now anyway, hunger replaced by something else in the pit of his stomach.

The best meal in the dungeons had been the one that Gwen had brought him. She was too kind to abandon him, and he thought that perhaps she had suspected him already. Gwen was also the first to visit him. He had not been allowed to see anyone at first. In truth, he didn't know how long he had been there, exactly, for he slept most of his time.

She had been escorted down by two large, beefy guards, —he was not allowed to be visited unless there were certain security measures― and she had snuck him some fresh, warm bread and a hunk of hard cheese in the pocket of her dress. She knelt in front of his cage and the two guards stood several good lengths away, at either side of her, so that they could observe, but not overhear. Arthur would give Gwen that luxury. He had yet to ask her as his queen, but the love he had for her was plain to see.

The friendly love that Gwen harbored for Merlin was still there as well, protective and warm, regardless of the light he was now viewed in. She herself though, was cast in the good light of the dungeon, her knees resting on the stone path and the edges of her dress not quite touching the filth and runoff that marked the edge of his cell. 

He came and sat in front of her. Guinevere. In red fabric and gold candlelight, she looked like a Pendragon, but Merlin looked as if he were barely there at night. His pale skin was coloured black and blue by the long shadows, and his sunken eyes and jutting bones made him a living skeleton.

"Oh, Merlin... You're alright, aren't you?" Gwen was fighting off tears, not quite letting them spill over her lashes."They haven't done anything―"

"―I'm alright, Gwen." he said, "At least for now."

"Oh God, Merlin, I can't believe that they're doing this to you, that Arthur," ―she gripped the bars of his cell― "...After all you've done..." 

He wrapped his hands around hers. "It's alright, Gwen. It's my fault. I should've kept quiet, I should have known."

Gwen looked up at him. The tears were now just resting on her cheeks. "Is it true then? What the castle's been saying? That you're a―" She hiccoughed and Merlin squeezed her hands lightly in reassurance. "―That you're a sorcerer?" 

Merlin squeezed again and hung his head in answer. He rested his forehead against the bars and took his bottom lip between his teeth, ready for his last friend to cast him out. Instead, she sobbed. 

She cried not from betrayal. Not from grief or fear, but because she knew what it meant. She knew the consequences. She knew them better than many, her own flesh and blood killed by a mere accusation of sorcery. 

"Oh, Gwen," he begged her. "Don't cry. Please don't cry." 

She heaved in another shaky breath and asked, her voice barely a whisper, "Show me. Please, I know I have no right, but... Please, I need to see, Merlin."

Merlin dropped his arms. Gently, he uncurled one of her hands from a bar and drew it into the cell. He pressed his lips softly into her palm and cradled it in his hands.

As Merlin drew away, a peach-pink carnation bloomed and unfurled in the center of her hand, where his kiss had been. He did this slowly, and switched his gaze from the budding flower to Gwen's eyes as he pulled away. Gwen merely stared at her hand, and looked up only once the magic was finished, just in time to watch the gold retreat from Merlin's eyes.

She smiled softly at him. "It's beautiful, Merlin." 

She brought the flower to her face and inhaled it's perfume. It smelled like any other, and it's petals were soft against her fingertips. It seemed identical to a flower grown purely from the soil, except that it seemed, perhaps, too perfect.

Merlin reached his arms out through the bars and took the flower. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and fastened the carnation in it. She gave him a weak, but genuine, smile in return. 

"How about a trade?" She said fondly, her voice shaking. "I can't imagine they're feeding you well." 

It was then that with trembling arms she shoved the food into his hands. 

"Oh Gwen, you're an _angel._ " He said. Homemade bread and cheese, wrapped in one of his red neckerchiefs. He was without one at the moment.

She blushed a bit in the candlelight, "I wouldn't go that far." She said. The tears left her eyes now, and they did not return for the length of her visit.

 

A silence fell between the two. Gwen held the bars again, and Merlin wrapped his hands around hers. Holding steady to the metal was comforting, like an anchor that tethered them both to earth. They sat like that for a few minutes. Gwen was the one to break the silence again.

"I feel like I knew."

"What?"

"About your...your magic." She whispered, "I feel like I knew."

"Gwen, no. Don't you tell them that." Merlin hissed through the bars. "Don't tell them anything; they'll take you down with me." 

He leaned in closer, face pressed flush against the cell door. "They'll say you served as an accomplice, or knowingly housed a magic-user. You were close with Morgana too, if you show too much sympathy for me they may accuse you of being a sorceress, I―"

"―I didn't _know_ know, Merlin! I just..." She paused. "You were so lucky. No one could be that lucky."

"Seems that luck's about run out." Said Merlin.

"I wish you wouldn't be so jovial!" She said. "They're going to kill you for it. Treason, they're accusing you of treason! Of all the people―"

" _Gwen,_ "

"Oh, I shouldn't have said that, we don't know that that's the case," She calmed herself down. "I mean... There's going to be a trial; you've never hurt anyone, surely that means they'll find you innocent."

An uncomfortable silence.

"Unless... You have?" 

A cautious silence was pitted against another's patient waiting.

Patience won out.

"Oh god, you have. Merlin—"  
"—I'm not proud of it, Gwen." He answered immediately. "But I have."

Gwen visibly recoiled from the cell. She dropped the bars like red-hot iron, as if the smith's daughter had plunged her hands into the furnace. She brought them to her face as if to soothe the burns with the air from panicked breaths as she tried to blow out flames. 

She took a moment to process the new information: that her clumsy friend had blood on his hands. That he was soaked in it to the bone. 

"I've used it only for what I thought was right. For _Arthur_." He choked. "For protection, or as a last resort. I never use magic if I don't need to, not anymore."

"You've killed only those who deserved it?" She asked him.

Merlin's face was pained as he ran a hand through his dirty hair. 

"No one deserves to die, Gwen. You taught me that. I didn't use to think that way."

"When did I ever—"

Merlin met her eyes and cut her off. "When your father was arrested, after he died,"—a brief flash of hurt passed through Gwen's eyes— "I asked you, 'If you had the power of life and death over Uther, _would you kill him?'"_

"I was going to, Gwen. I was going to kill him. Or I was going to let someone else do it. He hurt you so badly, I—" a lump formed in the boy's throat; he attempted to swallow it, but could not finish his sentence.

"There was a plot. To kill the king. He had wronged so many people, Gwen, killed so many innocents. I was going to let them get away with it. Let it all slide. I had the power to stop it, and I wasn't going to lift a finger."

Guinevere's hands were clasped over her mouth, but whether it was in grief or disbelief, Merlin could not tell.

"But you said that you wouldn't. Couldn't. That it would make you as much of a sinner as him. I saved him that night; right call or not, he didn't deserve to die."

" _Merlin,_ " a ghost's whisper.

"But I don't save everyone, Gwen. There's not always time for second chances, not when your life is on the line."

Merlin looked up again and Guinevere saw that his eyes were filled with tears that would not spill. He stared at the ceiling as if he could see through the roof and out to the midnight sky. He looked as if he were pleading with someone, a god or celestial being that could look down on him even in this darkness.

"I could make seas go red from washing my hands. I have bathed in oceans and rivers and never felt clean."

Tears were running down his face, the taste of salt on his lips, and he could speak no more. He did not sob, but choked, strangled breaths resounded in the deathly silence of the dungeon. The boy's lungs were heaving.

Guinevere was wringing her hands now, as if she was trying to work blood out of cloth in the laundry, her old habits kicking in. She was as conflicted as the sorcerer.

At last, the serving girl seemed to forgive him, or come to terms with his confession. She could not hold a grudge; she was too devoted to others.

She reached a trembling hand through the bars and gripped the rough fabric of his shirt, holding his shoulder. 

"Are you alright, Merlin?"

The sincerity of her words startled him out of his state. He shook his head, the muscles in his neck tightening and flexing as he tried to regain control of his voice.

"No, I'm not alright at all. Gwen, I'm not, I-I'm—"

Guinevere worked her hand on his shoulder, trying to work out the tension in his back like she would knead dough to be baked. Her hands were strong and warm, calloused but soft. She was always a comfort. She was a caregiver, a nurturer, and like a mother she could pull the truth from her children gently. 

"Arthur has killed men." She said. "I prefer not to think about it, but he is a warrior. He's a knight. He has fought many, and killed many; I know he has. But that does not mean he is not a good man, Merlin, and you are no different. Whether sword or spell, it's motive that matters. How could I think less of you if I never once thought less of Arthur?"

She took in a heavy breath. "Some ends justify the means. I can't believe you would ever take a life unless you saw it as a necessary evil." 

The prisoner's breathing steadied.

"You are the most loyal friend I know, Merlin. You don't have an evil bone in your body. I have no doubt that you would die for Arthur, for any of us, without hesitation. I suppose that means you would kill for him too. Surely, on some level, he must know that. He cannot find you guilty of treason."

"He can't find me innocent either." Said Merlin. His tears had dried now, and he returned to a sense of dark humour.

"You're not going to plead innocence?" She asked him.

Merlin took his hands away. "I'm going to confess."

He rubbed his neck. "I was born to serve and protect Arthur. He is my sole duty. I'd follow him into hell if he asked me. I'll go alone now if he wills it."

"You're not hell-bound, Merlin." 

"I might be." He said. "I'm a heretic by your church, and a traitor to mine. I'm damned wherever I go."

"Who has told you this?"

"Arthur." 

"He'll come to his senses."

"I don't think so, Gwen. Not this time. But you've always had your wits about you, and for that I'm grateful. You were my first friend here in Camelot, and you have stuck by me all these years. Thank you." Said Merlin.

"I always thought that we were close, Merlin, but now I feel as if I barely even knew you." Said Gwen.

"Few did." 

She pretended not to notice his use of the past tense.

"I'm sorry for that."

"Time's up, Miss." A guard walked back. Merlin hid the bundle behind his back as the guard motioned for the other to join him. They helped Gwen to her feet and began to walk her out of the dungeons. As they left, she turned her head over her shoulder.

"Goodbye, Merlin." She called.

"Goodbye, Gwen."

She was halfway up the stairs when Merlin yelled out to her again.

"Gwen!"

"Yes, Merlin?" 

"Do you still stand by your choice?" He asked. "About Uther?"

The maid paused on the steps. A bit annoyed, one of the guards tried to push her along. Her brows furrowed, but she remained unmoved. Then she met Merlin's eyes, and spoke with complete and utter honesty.

"I don't know."

Then she turned and was gone.

 

Alone again, Merlin retreated to his mostly dry, makeshift bed and unwrapped the parcel she had given him again. He took out a slice of the bread and tore off a piece of the hard crust. He chewed on that while the loaf warmed his hands. Once he finished off the crust, he slowly ate the soft inner part of the bread, where it was still the warmest.

He had another slice before he moved on to the cheese. The cheese was good and flavourful, if a little pungent. It was a welcome distraction from the smells of the dungeon, however, and he breathed in the aroma deeply. The prisoner scraped his teeth along a side of the wedge and let it crumble. He sucked the cheese to the roof of his mouth. He repeated the process twice more before wrapping it all up again. 

Merlin reclined as best he could. He sat the bundle on his chest and held it close until it stopped giving off heat. The food was good, but it didn't seem to fill him at all. He felt empty, but not hungry. A part of him had resigned, perhaps the mortal part that required food. Or maybe he just didn't have the stomach to hold onto anything of substance anymore, too sick from despair. It was not as if he couldn't taste the food, for he could, but it brought him no joy, and he lost interest in it almost immediately. 

It almost made him feel worse: awakening some melancholy nostalgia, a sudden homesickness. Gwen's baking was like his mother's, neither excellent, nor complex, just simple and genuine. It tasted heartfelt, like home, if home had a legitimate taste, which Merlin thought it did. It didn't ever need to taste fancy, it just needed to keep you warm and fill your stomach until the next meal.

" _Hunger is the best seasoning,_ " as his mother had always said.

Merlin wondered briefly about how the news would reach his mother. Would she even be notified of her son's execution? Perhaps the King would send a messenger, or Gaius would travel to her. After all, he was the one that his mother had entrusted with his safety. He hoped that she would not be angry with the old man, after all, it was his own fault, not Gaius'. Had he informed Gaius of his intentions, the boy had no doubt that he would have received a quick slap upside the head. His mentor never refrained from knocking some sense into him.

But his mother, would she curse the boy king? Blame the noble for the death of her only son? He thought his mother too kind to blame Arthur, but that would make it no easier for her. She would not even have Will there to help her carry the heavy burden. No, he was gone too. 

Will. There was a thought.

Would his old friend be waiting for him, or would Merlin arrive at different gates? Will had been a troublemaker, no question there, but he was a good man. When Merlin left, Will had agreed to take care of his mother for him. Whatever troubles the boys had caused her in their youth were surely paid for.

But Merlin, Merlin had left his simple, honest life for one of deceit. It was precautionary, and did no real harm, but would the millions of lies he had let slip drag him downwards? Wrap about his ankles like chains and wrestle him, screaming, into hell? Could there even be a place in heaven for someone of the old religion? Images of himself reflected in his eyes. A pagan in a church.

He laughed.

He fished around in the parcel some more, broke off a large corner of the cheese, and tossed it to the rats. He heard them bump about as they scurried and fought each other for crumbs. That alone provided more entertainment than the food itself. They needed the food more than him; it was just as well. After all, they would last longer.

At last, he stilled his thoughts. Let his eyes close. He tucked the leftover morsels into his jacket and reached out towards sleep. He was exhausted. He had spent all of his humanity in one night; all of his emotions were worn out.


	2. The Fire and the Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur could not eat his dinner.
> 
> Each night he would wake, twitching in bed and dripping with warm sweat, as if he were melting. As if his bedroom were a furnace.

Arthur could not eat his dinner. The sliced meat sat cold on his plate; the bread was untouched. Like Merlin, food did not seem to fill his gut, and it did nothing for him. He had taken to giving his meals to whatever serving-boy or scullery maid he first ran into the next morning. They needed the meals too much to refuse, even if they knew the king was not eating. In truth, he had not touched a meal since the night with Merlin. There were other duties that he had to attend to.

He had neglected his work for two days. The court had been told that he was in shock, or that he had suffered a mild injury, but in truth he was caught up in fear and doubt. His thoughts were once again his sole companion, and they picked at him relentlessly, mocking him for ever thinking he could trust a servant.

It was on the third day that he reminded himself that the castle could not be put on hold for his own needs and threw himself back into his work. He completed piles of paperwork, scratching away into the night to avoid the nightmares that riddled him like a plague. He sat in the throne room for hours and hours on end, hearing any case that was presented to him. Anything to keep him busy, anything to put off even the thought of sleep. His soft feather bed was more of an enemy to him than any invader's sword, it's silk sheets like rope about his neck. 

Each night he would wake, twitching in bed and dripping with warm sweat, as if he were melting. As if his bedroom were a furnace. He put out the hearthfire every night, more terrified of his dreams than the cold, but it changed nothing. It was all there: the fire and the gold. The consuming flames, twining higher and higher, like twin serpents, wrapped about the body of a man. They were constrictors made of fire. Forked tongues spitting out sparks. And in the room, there was a feeling as if all of the air was being drawn out of his lungs, the oxygen consumed by this massive snake. The fire itself left no scorch mark and burnt no flesh, but gave off such an impressive heat that it must have been fire from the very pits of hell. And who could not be burnt by fire but the devil himself?

No, he could not subject himself to these terrors again.

They had tried to reinstate George as a temporary manservant in Merlin's absence. Arthur woke to see him standing at the foot of his bed in Merlin's colors and screamed. The court dissolved the position immediately. 

Arthur was relentless. The court could not keep up with him. Within a week he had heard nearly every plea, negotiated every bargain, and made every trade agreement. He was more efficient and driven than ever, but his eyes and cheeks had sunken in. His golden skin turned ash gray. His blue eyes were clouded over and sat in sagging purple sockets.

There was but one case that he neglected, the one that had thrown them all into this great mess. All for the sake of an apple or two. God, how quickly things can change.

 

"You trying to give me an eyeful, sire?" It was the farthest their teasings had gone: Merlin, fixing the blankets on Arthur's bed, prepping it and fluffing the pillows while Arthur stood over his desk, back to him. The king pored over parchment and ink, palms flat against the surface while his fingers gripped the undersides, his arse stuck out in a way that could only be described as flattering. 

"I can't make a decision." He said.

"You cant decide on what to eat for breakfast." Said Merlin." I have to surprise you nearly every other day. Why they make you judge court matters I'll never understand. What is it this time?"

"A man has come before the court." He said. "He was caught stealing apples from the market."

"Typical enough." Said Merlin. "Just give the merchant back the apples. Hardly a case for the royal court,"

"He returned the apples immediately, Merlin. That's not the problem. The merchant says it's happened before. He wants the thief to be punished. The apple-stealer is trying to appeal. He's got family. Two children and one on the way. Says he's been out of a job for a while, he can't find a new position. His wife is having troubles with the baby, so she can't work. They're an older couple, too, I'm surprised either can work at all. Claims he was only trying to feed his kids enough so that they wouldn't go hungry. Said he intended to repay the man once he landed a job, even if it meant skimping on his own meals."

Arthur's hands turned white as he gripped the table harder. The crown had made him second guess every ruling he made, terrified of making the wrong call. Merlin often said that it was, perhaps, fitted too tight, and that it squeezed the royal brain further into stupidity. Regardless, Arthur found dilemma after dilemma. He was required to uphold the law, but he had to look after his people. Is a king to be strict, and obeyed, or caring and loved? Simple events, simple cases, were now never-ending moments of indecision.

"What do you think is right, Arthur?" The manservant had dropped the pillows on the bed and came to stand over the king's desk. 

Arthur took a heavy breath and moved, releasing his death grip on the table edge. He let himself fall into his chair, somewhat exasperatedly. 

"He was stealing out of necessity." Said Arthur.

"Most thieves do."

Arthur sighed. "Not the ones we've caught."

Merlin was now standing behind Arthur. He laid one hand on his shoulder, and with the other, followed his eyes on the parchment in front of him, tracing it with a finger. 

"Most thieves don't get caught." He said. "They can't be. If they're caught, they can't steal again, and if they can't steal, they can't survive. Nor can their dependents. If you steal to stay alive, you have to be good, cause if you're caught, in most places you won't survive for much longer." He shifted his stance, and was now unintentionally mimicking how Arthur had stood before, leaning over the desk and stalking the words on the pages.

"Right, because you'd know something about that, Merlin." Arthur interrupted.

But Merlin was not finished. "They chop off your hand in some places, you know? For stealing? Can't work or steal then. No, It's the sloppy ones that get caught, the ones who do it for thrill, for gain. People who seek great power, and are willing to take it from others." 

Arthur's brow was furrowed as he stared queerly at the serving-boy. He leaned forward slightly in his padded chair.

"How on earth could you possibly know matters like this, Merlin?"

Merlin's face cheered up considerably as he grinned. 

"Best pickpocket in Ealdor, 'sides Will of course."

"You, clumsiest man in Camelot?"

"You'd be surprised."

It had been a while since Merlin had mentioned his childhood friend, and Arthur was relieved to hear him recall him with fondness. He wasn't sure if he would ever quite get over his friend's death.

"I just can't imagine you as a criminal." Said Arthur. "The idea is foreign to me. I'd expect you'd trip over your own feet and spill whatever it was you had taken."

"Do you forget where I came from, Arthur? I lived in a small, little village. Dirt poor, we were, but happy enough. I still send remittances to my mother. Do you never wonder where my wages go?"

"To the tavern, knowing you." He had laughed.

"I send it along with the knights if they ever happen to be going up that way" He said. "Knowing my mother, she probably divvies it up amongst all the families, but still, it helps.

"Anyways, every now and then a merchant or traveller came to town that looked like they could do without a coin or two from their purse. So, I'd lift it. Never take everything, but a bit here and there adds up when you live like we did."

"You know, I could probably still throw you in the dungeons for admitting that bit of theft. Or the stocks at least." Arthur joked. His mind was now distracted from his paperwork, instead imagining his awkward companion as a nimble-fingered thief.

Merlin groaned. "Have you not grown tired of that after all these years? Ealdor's not exactly in your jurisdiction, and I'd trust you not to have the citizens throw rotten food at me again considering the mess it left last time. I had tomato in my hair for weeks, Arthur, _weeks._ "

"Besides," he continued. "my mum would punish me enough. I may have had a quick hand, but that woman had vision like a hawk. Could catch the movement of my two fingers through our window while I was stood in the road. If she ever caught me in the act, oh she'd give me a good whipping. Tug me along by the ears." He yanked on one to show his point.

"Is that why they're so unreasonably large, then?" 

Merlin snorted. 

"She'd make me apologize profusely, and then send the stranger along with an apple for their troubles. But she'd never question it if there was an extra loaf of bread on the table at the end of the day, or some leftover scraps I bribed the butcher for. She would never scold."

"Are you going to get to the point of this narrative, Merlin?" Arthur asked. His friend did not reminisce often, and while Arthur was enjoying his stories, it was getting late. The sky was already dark

"The point is, we did what we had to, Arthur. Everyone just wants to survive."

He continued. "What is the greater evil? To pluck an apple from another's orchards, or to let your family die because your pride was worth more than their appetites? Is the most important duty to law, or to family? You are the king, you must say to the law, or else it will not stand. But you are a man as well. Tell me: would you not do everything in your power to protect your son? Your heir? To feed him? If you had a family, would you not risk everything for the sake of their well-being? It is motive that matters in dealings like these. Not every thief is evil, not every merchant honest. Circumstances and variables are always, well, varying. To have a uniform punishment for all is to say that every crime committed is the same."

"I'm not sure I understand you." said Arthur.

Merlin thought for a moment. "A man named Henry kills his neighbor out of envy. He takes his cattle, his sheep, and his wife and gains all of the man's power. What do you say to this?"

"It's abhorrent. Unforgivable." 

Merlin nodded, as if considering the answer.

"A man named Richard returns home to this turn of events. He discovers that his father has been killed. He exacts revenge, killing his father's murderer and reclaiming his inheritance. He also kills the few that helped conspire against his father."

"He returned things to balance. It was justified to retake his father's property from the bastard." said Arthur.

"I would agree. And yet, you called the death of one man abhorrent, and the other justified." said Merlin. "Lastly, a man named Arthur goes to war. He does so to protect his kingdom, but in doing so kills hundreds of men, some by his own hand, others by his orders. Your cause may be justified, but if you ignore the circumstances, the variables, who has committed the worst crime? The death of a few men is worse than that of one, but the death of hundreds of men is worse than the death of a few. If every death was listed as a tally mark, with no indication of cause, of situation, how quickly would a man condemn you as the worst villain of all?" 

It was no accusation. The lecture was merely friendly advice, but the words were true.

The puzzled look returned to Arthur's face.

"You seem to have quite an opinion on the matter."

"You asked me for my thoughts. I gave them."

"Have I ever told you that you can be strangely wise, Merlin?"

Merlin laughed. "With increasing frequency. Should I be expecting a promotion any time soon? Court advisor's got a nice ring to it."

"So does stable-cleaner."

"Alright, alright." he conceded. "Have you come to a decision?"

"I'll find a way to make it work out."

"So you forgive him then?" Merlin asked.

"Pardon?" 

"He broke the law to do the right thing."said Merlin. "You forgive him for this?"

"I agree with your reasoning. I suppose that equates forgiveness."

Merlin pried further. "What is the degree of your leniency?"

"That's a big word, Merlin. What do you mean by it?"

"How large a crime would you be willing to forgive if the guilty party was making the right choice? If they were stopping a greater evil?" He was stepping closer to Arthur in his speech, cautiously tiptoeing around his ears, but his feet had begun a slow backpedal, distancing himself for fear of rejection.

"I'm not sure. Why are you asking me this, Merlin?" He twisted his signet ring about his finger. "What have you done?" He looked over his friend with quick eyes, as if he could discern his troubles with a glance.

The boy passed a hand through his hair and rubbed at his neck, working the sweat that clung there into his skin. "There's something I need to tell you, Arthur. I'm not sure how you'll take it."

Arthur's pulse quickened. Had all their years together been leading to this? The teasing and the banter, the threats he had never enforced? He bit his inner lip. 

Merlin spoke as if each word was breaking his heart. "It may be unforgivable, or you may have suspected as much. Regardless, I can't keep lying to you like this. Every year it gets harder and harder and I can't see a way out of it. I've been digging myself a grave ever since I came to Camelot, and soon I'm going to hit bedrock. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry Arthur. For everything. Just, please try to understand."

Arthur wet his lips. 

"I promised that I would reveal myself after you became king. That I would subject myself to your mercy rather than your father's."

"Spit it out already, Merlin. Tell me."

"I'm not sure I can, sire." said Merlin.

"If you can't tell me, then why did you bring it up?" asked Arthur.

Merlin swallowed. "I'm not sure if I can explain it for you, not with words. " He inhaled sharply. "But I can show you."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. 

Across the table, Merlin reached out an open hand and whispered.

_"Forbearnan,"_

 

He had meant merely to conjure a flame in his hand. Something small, so that there was just enough proof of his word. His magic, however, often had its own ideas. It happened particularly when he was near Arthur, as if his proximity to the king made the elements in his body rise, the fire in his blood ignite. On many occasions these instinctual flare-ups had saved his life. Now, they condemned it.

 

The flames in the hearth jumped into his hand like lightning. Outstretched, his palm was a pedestal for a column of fire that burst forth towards the ceiling. His whole body was engulfed in raw, volcanic power. It smoldered at his feet and licked at his lips. The fire gave no smoke to mask him. Every move he made was illuminated, and the room was lit as clear as day. 

The fire was different. Wrong, somehow. Arthur could not distinguish what made it so, but there was a distinct 'offness' about it. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that it was magic. It burnt without burning. It ate nothing, but seemed only to grow. Arthur felt that if he threw a bucket of water into the flames, it would neither evaporate nor quench the fire. It would puddle on the floor as the fire burnt on around it, uncaring of its impossible surroundings.

Merlin was contrast to flame. Where it burnt red, he was dressed in blue. His skin too, was an uneasy tint. The flames were authoritative over all, while Merlin's expression was meek and anxious. His lips quivered as the fire roared without sound. They were such opposites that it seemed impossible for him to have cast them. It couldn't be possible. Not this.

Arthur's golden skin now seemed as milky as Merlin's, the colour drained of his face. His eyes were opened wide and refused to close, making them water. He was frozen, stuck where he shrank back in fear. His only movement was a small shaking of his head back and forth. His face was painted with terror.

"I have magic."

It was a whisper, a cry, and a shout all at once. His dark lips barely moved, but his voice filled every corner and crevice of the room.

At the same time, Arthur shouted over him.

"Guards!"

The flames extinguished into nothing with a silent hiss. Arthur exploded into movement. He lunged across the table, closing the distance between the two. He seized Merlin by the knot of his neckerchief, pulling him down at the table. The stacked plates were knocked to the ground by the impact, where they fell and shattered. Arthurs other arm grasped him roughly by the shirt at his shoulder. Merlin tried to steady himself, palms flat on the table, pushing and straining upwards, but Arthur tightened his grip until he was gasping. He had him trapped where he could not bring his head up, no matter the strain. He could look up just enough to meet the king's eyes.

"Arthur... _Please_... Air... I need... _Air_..." 

"You lied to me." Arthur's eyes were watering, and his jaw trembled. "You stood by me all this time, and lied to my face."

" _Arthur,_ "

"You're no fool; it was always me. How could I have let this happen? Magic has been alive and well in this castle for years and no one has been the wiser." 

He released his hold on Merlin's neck. The boy tumbled over chairs and fell to the ground. His hand shot up to rub at his aching throat and he gulped at the air.

"You're a heretic, and a traitor to Camelot."

"Arthur, please." Merlin begged, "Let me explain. I've been protecting you, all this time. You just don't understand. I mean no harm to you. I swear it, let me explain, please!"

"I thought you were my _friend_!" He screamed like a child.

The heavy doors were flung open. They smacked the walls. Guards streamed into the room in a red and silver ribbon and arced behind the two men, swords drawn. They stalled briefly when they saw no enemy, only the king and his manservant on his knees before him.

A faint scent of smoke lingered; the air seemed charged. Arthur's head was still reeling. He heard himself order Merlin's arrest and immediate imprisonment. He heard himself out the boy as a sorcerer, his shaking hand pointed at the servant who lay helpless on the floor. 

Two men rushed forward and grabbed Merlin's arms, trying to pull him to his feet. At first they were gentle, but the boy kept throwing himself at the king's feet, and they had to wrench him from the floor.

Merlin screamed Arthur's name as he strained against the guards, throat raw. Arthur replied with a blank stare. Merlin thrust himself forward in a few last, desperate attempts to make his way back to the king, and then collapsed, sobbing, into the guards' hold. He had neither the strength nor the heart to walk, and the guards dragged him away, his legs trailing behind them on the ground.

Arthur had never seen Merlin give up so completely.

Merlin had never seen Arthur so terrified.

He stared at the doors as they swung closed. It had not been two minutes. Two minutes and everything had changed. He had not felt true betrayal until mere seconds ago. Things were fine and then they weren't, quicker than snapping your fingers. Merlin was gone. It hadn't been two minutes.

He couldn't shake the image of Merlin, his magic wild about him. And his eyes, too, as if they were on fire. Molten. These were the images that played before him each night. But in sleep, Merlin did not have nervous hope across his face. In dreams, Merlin's smile was malice. His power, consuming. His friend was tainted by a darkness he had avoided his entire life, that he had been taught to hate. The same darkness that brought them both into this world. 

His limbs were those of strangers. He felt nothing. He felt everything. He felt his bare foot hit one of the plates that had been knocked off the table. It skidded across the floor. Funny, he could have sworn they were broken, but here they lay, albeit scattered about.

He walked, like a wooden puppet on strings, to bed. Unthinking, he walked, controlled by habit like it was his master. He did not dress himself in his nightclothes, did not bother even to remove his shirt, but drew the bedcovers and clambered under the sheets. He sat there, staring at the wall until his eyes burned. He didn't blink. 

Merlin. Magic. _Merlin._ Magic. It was like a horrible joke, or a dream. 

How long had he been practicing magic? Why? How could he? To lie to _him_. He had let Merlin in, joked with him. They had become friends over the years, inseparable. The crown prince and his bumbling manservant. The king and his secret advisor. They were two halves of a whole, _Merlin and Arthur_. Never just one or the other.

Was there ever a moment he was truly alone? Ever a moment they had been apart? Since the beginning? Merlin went with him on hunting trips, and cried over rabbits. Merlin attended to him at meals, spilling wine. Merlin's face was the first thing he saw come daybreak, giddy and grinning. Bathing was Merlin. Dressing was Merlin. Training, Merlin. Walks, Merlin. Every case in court, Merlin.

Perhaps that was what made it so terrible. It was not that the castle had been infiltrated. It was him. His whole life had been a sham 'til now. It wasn't that the guards were not careful, it was that Arthur had let his guard _down_. 

He couldn't be a sorcerer. He would have known. But then what was this? What was this that unfolded before him if not magic? And it was not an accusation that could be disregarded, it was a confession. 

The candles burned down to stubs. Slowly, the room was completely enveloped in darkness.

The king's mind drifted into fevered sleep, but before he succumbed, he was left with one last question. The one that hurt the most, as all last things do.

_Was any of it real?_

 

 

Now though, now he must work. Forget everything that had happened and bury his mind in his duties, for the betrayal still felt like a knife in his gut. Merlin was, above all, the person he trusted most. Now he was gone. Their sense of ease about each other had been more than comfortable, their camaraderie deep. But there was something more to their friendship, something that tethered them closer. Wasn't there? But they had never addressed it, never talked about it in the open. Arthur had gushed to Merlin over Guinevere, and he had sat through it all, seeming more amused than bothered. And he truly did love Gwen, so why was he unsatisfied? Their relationship was not quite started, but he planned to make her his queen. All three knew this, but Arthur repeatedly found himself wishing for another opposite his throne.

At least that was what Arthur had made of it. Surely they had picked up on each other's hints.

That made it hurt all the more. To think that he had let someone this close to him who didn't actually care for him at all. Maybe Merlin had recognized his affections, and used them to get closer to him. That had to be it. He must have thought him so _weak_ , Falling for a serving boy while he still felt love for another. Merlin must have laughed at him behind his back. It would have been too easy. Arthur had been a fool.

Work was the only thing that distracted him from his mistakes, that blinded him of the past.

So, at last, he was sat in front of the man who had caused, unknowingly, a chain reaction that had cost him his friend, his peace of mind, and his clarity.

 

"Please, your majesty, I've given 'im back everythin'. I'll pay a fine, to you or 'im, once I can get the money. But don't put me away,  
I can't give ya nothin' imprisoned."

"But the merchant says that this has happened before," said Arthur. "That you've stolen from him many times."

"Yes, your majesty!" The merchant said. "He's always lurking about my cart, shifty-eyed and nimble-fingered. Stuffing apples down his pockets without pay."

"Not so many times, your majesty, only a couple." Pleaded the man. "An' never more than an apple or two at a time. We know what it's like to live on so little, we wouldn't wish it on another. I'd never take what don't belong to me otherwise, but I've got a little 'un on the way and others to feed. My wife can't work this time around like she could before, an' I'm out of a job." 

"You've found no work?" Asked the king.

"None, sir. Folks don't seem to need me anymore. I'm not as strong as I used to be, they've got newer boys for that, an' I've never been the smartest. Still, I work my best, your majesty, I just need something to do. I always intended to repay that man for what I did. Does no good to teach you children to be without honour."

The apple-seller scoffed. "Does no good to teach 'em to be no-good thieves either."

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. "Here is my solution. It makes no sense to imprison you when you cannot possibly redeem yourself in isolation, but you must not go unpunished either. Still, this was no malicious or violent crime."

He turned to the merchant. "Would you be content if he reimbursed you for your loss? With some additional figures?"

"Oh yes, your majesty. Money is fine by me, as long as he actually hands it over."

"Then here is your sentence." Said the king. "You will work in my stables, cleaning, until you've paid off your debt two times over. You'll not earn wages until that debt is paid off, but we will provide you with meals for your work. Do with them what you will. I warn you, it is tedious job, and not one many long for."

"It's alright, your majesty, stable-cleaner's got a good enough ring to it for me. I'm so grateful, sire." Said the man, thankful tears in his eyes.

"And you are never to be caught stealing again, now that you have some means to provide for yourself. If you are caught in the act again, you punishment shall be far more severe."

"Yes, your majesty, you 'ave my word. I'll never take from anyone again, I swear it."

Arthur dismissed the court and sat, his insides stone. 

And in the back of his mind, he could see it all unfold again. The fire and the gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas are: [thetinymanatte](http://www.thetinymanatte.tumblr.com) and [supercalvin](http://www.supercalvin.tumblr.com)  
> Thank you guys so much for all your help


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